Welcome to the Masquerade
by NuclearNik
Summary: Hermione finds her fellow Head student to be less obnoxious than he used to be. *Written for Platform 9 3/4's Halloween Masquerade Contest*


_September 25, 1998_

Night had fallen at Hogwarts, and the Head students were making their rounds through the castle, making sure everyone was respecting curfew.

The pair of them were an unlikely set, plenty of space and no words between them.

Normally Hermione scheduled herself with a prefect because neither she nor Malfoy wanted to spend any more time together than absolutely necessary, but the prefect scheduled for tonight had fallen ill at the last minute, leading to Malfoy volunteering.

So they walked, side by side but in silence, eyes scanning the corridors.

As they turned the corner in the dungeons near the Slytherin common room, a kerfuffle caught their attention.

There was giggling, and the rustle of clothing. Hermione rolled her eyes at the sound. It was likely just another couple getting their hanky panky on in one of the alcoves.

When they stopped in front of the snogging teens, Hermione lit her wand tip and shined it in their faces, a bit like the police officers did with flashlights on that show her father loved.

"Excuse me," she said loudly.

The two students clumsily pulled apart, clearly inebriated.

There was quiet for a second while the young man waited for his vision to clear. He scoffed, "I don't have to listen to you, you little Mudblood bitch."

His words were no surprise to Hermione, and really, they didn't bother her anymore. Get called something enough times, it starts to lose its meaning. She didn't give a flying fig what some snot-nosed fifth-year Slytherin thought of her.

None of that mattered. She'd won her position as Head through hard work and dedication.

Hermione had come to terms with the fact that she'd never stop having to work three times as hard as everyone else just to prove she had a place in this world. Though the war was over, stupid and inane prejudices still tried to hold her back, and no amount of unity enforced by Headmistress McGonagall would change that.

Bratty disrespectful students didn't surprise her, but they did disappoint her.

As she took a step closer to more effectively glare at the student in question, Draco moved forward and to the right, tucking her behind his shoulder.

Fury lit like fire through her veins. How _dare_ he act superior, how _dare_ he presume she couldn't handle it herself.

"You're already in trouble, Milligan. I'd shut my mouth if I were you," he said, still keeping Hermione behind him.

Just as Hermione had decided that the minute they were out of the eyes of students, she was going to tear into Draco about how they must be a united front and that he had no right to supersede her, the male student scowled and bumped his chest against Draco's like a puffed-up rooster.

"Fuck you, Malfoy. And fuck your dirty little girlfriend."

There was silence for just a moment, and then the scent of spellfire and the sound of a body dropping to the floor. For a minute, Hermione had the entirely irrational thought that perhaps Draco had _murdered_ the student before she realised he'd just been petrified.

The pretty girl with whom the young man had been sucking face mumbled an apology under her breath, then scampered off down the corridor.

She'd have to be dealt with later.

"Draco," Hermione hissed through her teeth, "we are not supposed to use magic on the students like that!"

He spun around to face her, shoulders heaving with his accelerated breaths.

"Don't you think I had a reason? Do you really think me stupid and brazen enough to toss spells out at whoever is like?"

"I—I didn't think."

"No. You didn't. That kid? He's extraordinarily gifted at wordless magic. He lifted his wand to you, and he would have hurt you, Granger. Bad. I couldn't just stand there and—"

"Let me be hexed? You were certainly fine with it in the past. Probably would have led the charge, for that matter."

She chose not to mention the time he'd stood by and watched as she'd been tortured on the floor of his family home.

The look on his face turned stormy as he stared at her.

"I know you think I'm a shite person, Hermione, and you're right, but damn, at some point you're going to have to accept that I'm not the same idiot I used to be. We have to trust each other to make this work. "

She replayed his actions in her head, analysing every detail. She supposed he _had_ seemed genuine in his protection of her, though she still held the opinion that she could defend herself perfectly fine, thank you very much.

When she spoke, her voice was quiet, tired. "Okay. I—I'll try. To trust you. It's not something that will happen overnight, not with our history."

He nodded. "I don't expect it to. I am intensely aware that I don't deserve a second chance. I just—I want things to be different. Better."

And wasn't that the whole point of the victory the light had _finally_ won last year? A better world, a safer Hogwarts.

Peace didn't just happen. It was a conscious choice, every day, to put aside the past and make the world brighter than it had been the day before.

And so, Hermione tentatively extended the metaphorical olive branch.

"You're right." The words felt like they were stuck in her throat, but she forced them out. "But don't think this means you can just act like some night in shining armour and push me aside whenever there's conflict. I can defend myself."

A wry smile turned his mouth up at one corner. "Noted."

"Now," Hermione said, brushing her sweaty palms against her robes and gesturing to the student on the floor. "Are we going to stand here all night or shall we take him to McGonagall?"

* * *

_October 24, 1998_

Weeks passed, and slowly an odd and fragile friendship began to form between Draco and Granger.

He hadn't really thought it was possible, to be honest.

But now, when she came back to their rooms late at night from the library, and he was slouched on the couch with a textbook, she smiled at him.

Sometimes they even talked about their days or the weather.

It was all entirely new, so very different than the last six years had been, and Draco found he rather liked it.

They'd even taken to studying together sometimes. Hermione had said that they were both reading the same thing anyway and they may as well do it together, so they did. She even helped him come up with a schedule for NEWTs preparation.

He might even go as far as to say that he _enjoyed_ her company. Her quick wit made him laugh, and the slightly-vengeful side she kept hidden intrigued him.

It was a Hogsmeade weekend, and they were escorting some of the younger students into town. A few second-years had earned the special privilege of getting to go to Hogsmeade a year early. When Granger and Draco had the kids settled in at Honeyduke's and the tea shop, the two of them were free to wander a bit, just as long as they stayed within hearing range in case something went wrong.

They'd each gotten a piece of fudge from the sweet shop, and they nibbled at it as they walked around, peering in shop windows and watching the shoppers bustle along.

"What about that last question on the essay?"

Hermione shook her head.

"You're telling me not even _that_ one had you stumped, not the tiniest bit?"

Pride filled her expression. "Nope. I knew every answer. Because I study, Draco. You ought to try it sometime."

"Oh, hush, you. I've been studying my arse off. You're just, you're on another level, Granger."

"Another level?"

"Yeah. Neurotic."

"Hey!"

Her boney elbow jabbed into his side, knocking the wind out of him.

"I am not neurotic."

"Uh-huh." Draco caught on quick, and he knew to simply agree with her if he didn't want another elbow to the side.

"_Passionate_, maybe. Determined. Motivated, even."

"Same thing different words, sweets."

The endearment had come out before he could catch himself, and his hope that perhaps she hadn't heard was dashed when she came to an abrupt stop beside him.

When he turned to look at her, she was staring up at him intently, as if she were searching his face for something.

Maybe it wasn't that big of a deal. It was just a word, after all.

From the look on her face, it was a big deal.

In a quiet voice, she asked, "Why did you call me that?"

"No reason. It just came out." Her eyes were now suspiciously shiny, and Draco had no idea what he'd done to upset her so. "It's just a word, Granger."

Through little sniffles, she explained. "My—My father called me that. Sweets."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise he'd passed."

She let out a watery laugh full of irony. "No, he's not dead. He just—they both don't… They—they won't— "

The tears were getting stronger now, and Draco was starting to panic. What was he supposed to do with a crying witch in the middle of the street?

Something clearly happened with her parents, but he wasn't sure asking her to explain would be a wise choice. Instead, he made an attempt to comfort her, holding his arms out in case she wanted to be held in her moment of pain.

It was the right move, apparently, because she clutched at his coat, pressing her face to the fabric. He wrapped his arms gently around her back and held her close as her body shook with her sobs, awkwardly patting her shoulder.

When she pulled back, swiping at her face, Draco realised she had some bits of fudge clinging to her fingers, making tracks across her face. He looked down at the front of his coat, thankful it was black—perfect for disguising chocolatey fingerprints.

Granger must have realised they were still pressed together because she hopped back a step and spoke in a carefully modulated tone.

"Well, that was mortifying. Sorry for, uh, clinging to you. I don't know what came over me."

Thinking it was better to crack a joke than attempt to feed her platitudes, he said, "You owe me for leaving snot and chocolate on my coat as a parting gift. I'll send you the dry-cleaning bill."

She snorted, a little bit of life coming back into her face. "Right, yeah. _Dry-cleaning_. Sure. You'll ask an elf to do it, and you know it. How do even know about dry-cleaning?"

"I _do_ read, Granger. I'm a very well informed wizard these days."

With a chuckle, Hermione shook her head at him and said, "We should probably get back to the kiddies now. I have no doubt several of them are high as a kite from extreme sugar intake."

He gestured for her to walk ahead of him. "Lead the way, Madame Head Girl."

* * *

_October 31, 1988_

When the end of October finally rolled around, Hogwarts hosted a ball for Halloween.

Hermione had been instrumental in the planning. As Head Girl, she'd had enough power behind her to convince the Headmistress and faculty to allow them to put on a party.

They were just two months into the new school year, and Hogwarts still rang with the echoes of war. The students—and Professors, for that matter—needed something positive to unite them. Something to give them a moment of celebration.

So, with the help of the prefects and her fellow Head, Hermione planned the most fabulous masquerade ball Hogwarts had ever seen.

It was the only masquerade ball Hogwarts had ever seen, but that was just semantics. Hermione knew it would go well. She was not a witch that did things in half measure—everything had been planned down to the last detail.

The night of, Hermione's female friends crowded into the shared living space of the Head students to get ready together. Parvati was slicking her lips up with gloss in the corner, and Lavender was over by the mirror casting charms on her hair, a different style each time. The frustrated and overdramatic sigh she heaved indicated that she was not yet satisfied with her look.

Luna was by the window with Ginny, doing the redhead's hair up in a messy updo with little sparkly things sprinkled throughout.

Honestly, it was all a big fuss to Hermione. Dressing up and or taking any sort of care with her appearance wasn't really her thing. But the whole point of this ball was to rally the students, and if they wanted to primp and preen until they were satisfied, who was she to stop them?

In fact, it brought a lightness to her chest to see how carefree everyone was. They deserved to be just regular kids after everything they'd been through.

Though she didn't usually have much interest in dresses or fancy shoes, Hermione chose to make an effort tonight. She'd put so much work into the event—she deserved to enjoy it too.

Her mask was a deep purple, silver rhinestones dotted around the edges. She felt beautiful and ready to dance.

When everyone was ready, Hermione herded them all out the door and down to the Great Hall.

The spacious room had been transformed into a gothic wonderland. Charmed paper bats flew around the room, and deep orange pumpkins—courtesy of Hagrid—lined one wall, the candles within in them flickering light across the walls.

It was beautiful and exactly how she had envisioned it.

Everywhere Hermione looked, she saw the inhabitants of Hogwarts smiling and laughing, free from the trouble that had plagued the school for so long. It was a welcome reprieve, no matter how short.

Making her rounds throughout the room, Hermione greeted faculty and students alike, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries.

When she reached McGonagall, the older woman pulled Hermione in for a hug—a rare show of physical affection from the kind but stern Headmistress. "Well done, my dear. You've orchestrated a lovely event."

A wide smile tipped up the corners of Hermione's mouth. "Thank you, Headmistress. I had lots of help, and I'm pleased it turned out so well."

It was rather hot in the Hall with all the sweaty bodies, and Hermione required refreshment. She excused herself from the circle of professors she'd been speaking to and made her way to the west wall where a long black table stretched out, topped with massive glass bowls full of shimmering liquid in different colours.

The green one smelled delicious, like caramel apples, so she grasped the ladle and poured some into a glass for herself. Mid-pour, a sudden voice behind her left shoulder said, "Dipping into the sauce already, Granger?"

Hermione was not a person to sneak up on. If one did, they'd find themselves at the point of her wand quicker than they could blink.

Unfortunately, she'd been holding that glass, dropping it to grab her wand with her dominant hand as soon as she'd been startled.

Thus, the glass smashed into the floor, shattering into little pieces and spilling punch.

The person who'd found themselves with a wand digging into their neck was none other than Draco Malfoy, prat extraordinaire and her unfortunate partner in Head duties. He had a silver mask over his eyes.

She pulled back immediately, shame making her cheeks hot. She'd reacted without thinking, and while it was not an abnormal response for someone who'd been through what she'd been through, the world was no longer the dark place it had been, and threatening someone at wand point wasn't exactly an accepted social interaction.

"Sorry," she mumbled, looking down at her shoes. The shards of glass on the floor caught the light, and she whispered a vanishing spell to make the mess disappear.

"Granger?" Malfoy's voice was soft, utterly unlike him and utterly confusing her. Hermione lifted her head, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "It's okay. No harm done, alright?" Instead of the sneer that often graced his face when it was pointed toward her, his expression was neutral.

_He almost looks... kind?_

The thought would have been absurd had it been just a year or two ago, but the war had left none unaffected. It left remnants of itself in them all in different ways, and for Malfoy, it had made him determined to be a better version of himself.

Honestly, she still wasn't totally convinced that it wasn't an act, a trick to make her trust him so he could humiliate her.

But he had been trying. Their relationship was downright cordial these days, and even the disagreements they had over how to enforce one such rule or another hadn't been volatile.

Mostly, anyway.

There had been that time last week when she'd thrown a book—paperback, of course—at his head after he'd attempted to override her when it came to a decision on the appropriate discipline of a misbehaving student.

He was just so _entitled_ sometimes. It drove her mad.

Regardless, beyond a few minor incidents, they got along all right.

Something he'd said flashed in her mind. _Already dipping in the sauce?_

Turning back to the punch, she scooped some up and gave it a sniff and a sip.

"There's alcohol in this?"

"It's a school dance. Of course there's alcohol."

"_You_ put alcohol in the punch?" Hermione was quickly working her way to anger, rapidly flicking her gaze back and forth between Malfoy and the punch bowl.

His casual laugh surprised her. "No. I don't fancy being on the receiving end of your right-hook, or right-_book_, even." She rolled her eyes at his remark as he continued. "I'm just saying Granger, a little liquor at a school dance is nothing new."

"I have no issue with of-age students partaking but spiking the punch is stupid, and when I find out who did it, I will come after them with the full force of the law! Or, McGonagall, I guess."

"Slow down, Ruth Bader Ginsburg."

Okay, now she was impressed. He must really keep up with Muggle world news these days if he'd heard of Supreme Court Justice Bader Ginsberg who was, by the way, number four on Hermione's list of _Inspirational_ and _Powerful Women_. And yes, the list was printed and laminated, and Hermione had it hanging on the wall in her dorm.

"Pick your battles, Hermione. This is not the hill to die on."

_Hermione_.

She was pretty sure that was the first time he'd used her first name. It was casual, off-hand, but it felt important somehow.

"Would you like—do you want to dance?"

The question caught her off guard, and she responded by stuttering, "Wha—What? Why?"

"Well, it's just that you looked so pathetic standing over here by yourself. It's merely pity, I assure you."

The sassy grin on Malfoy's face made her laugh despite herself, and she presented him with her hand. "Shall we?"

He grasped her hand, pulling her to his side and tucking it around his elbow, before leading her to the dance floor.

He was a surprisingly good dancer.

She supposed years of debutant lessons had done that. They spun around the hall, and Hermione giggled—a genuine, girlish giggle—when Malfoy tipped her back in an exaggerated dip.

When she was pulled back up to standing, her face felt flushed, and she was smiling a probably ridiculously silly grin.

It was just so lovely to _have_ fun.

* * *

As Draco waltzed his dance partner around the floor of the Great Hall, he felt almost as if he were having an out of body experience.

If you'd told him a year ago that he'd be willingly putting his name on Hermione Granger's dance card, he would have laughed. Chortled, even.

But now... Well, now there was something about her that intrigued him, and each minute he spent in her company made the intrigue grow.

If he were asked, he'd deny it, but she felt good in his arms.

After several upbeat songs and a ballad, Granger excused herself to admonish a young couple who were groping each other in a dark corner of the hall.

He watched as she walked away and barely noticed when someone came to stand beside his left shoulder.

"You know you're staring at her arse, right?"

Draco rolled his eyes at Blaise.

"Just saying, you haven't grasped the finer points of subtlety, mate."

"She sure got pretty, didn't she?" Blaise said as he nudged Draco, bringing his gaze back to Granger's retreating form.

"Yeah, I guess."

With a chuckle, Blaise clapped Draco on the shoulder. "Can't fool me, Draco. Theo and I have a bet going on when you'll finally ask her out."

Turning his head sharply to look at Blaise, Draco said, "What?"

"You've been looking at her with moony eyes for the last month."

"That's not true."

"Save it, mate. Nobody cares, you know. That holy-than-thou shite is over now. Sow your wild oats. Go forth and fraternise with Gryffindors, and all that."

Whatever Draco was expecting when he turned to look at Blaise, it wasn't an amused but sincere smile.

"I'm serious, Draco. If you like her, you bloody well tell her."

With a half-hearted salute, Blaise sauntered away, leaving Draco to ruminate on his words.

_Did_ he fancy Hermione Granger?

He wasn't totally sure what the answer was, but he found he wasn't opposed to exploring it.

Not anymore.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! I'd love to know your thoughts. Concrit always welcome!


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